as to who might have murdered Miss Pramal. When Mr. Pramal came to us, he pointed out that he had knowledge of your services, and that he intended to come to you directly if we didn’t bring you into the fold. I felt it would be better if we kept ourselves apprised of what steps you might take towards a satisfying conclusion. So we’re here together.”
“I see. Right.” Maisie looked at Billy, then glanced at Sandra before she stood up from her chair and walked to the window. Caldwell had told her only part of the story, so she could either challenge him—ask for more details—or she could take his account as truth, and accept the case. Or she could turn them both away, saying she had too much work at the moment. It would have been a lie, but she wondered if she really needed the annoyance of working with Caldwell of Scotland Yard.
But as she turned back into the room, having been with her thoughts for only half a minute, Maisie saw something in Pramal’s eyes, a look of despair, of yearning. His eyes were those of a man who had been strong, but was now almost beaten by grief. It was as if the bones in his body, used to a certain correct posture, were all that stood between him and collapse. Now there was no choice. They were all looking at her: Billy, Sandra, Caldwell, and Pramal.
“Mr. Pramal . . . we should begin. Time is always of the essence in this sort of case—and so much time has been lost already.” She glanced at Caldwell. “How long since Miss Pramal’s body was discovered?”
Caldwell reddened. “About two months now, I’m sorry to say it, but we hit a dead end early on, and never picked up the lead. And of course, Mr. Pramal has had a very long journey from India—weeks.”
“Where did it happen?”
“Camberwell. That’s where the body . . . where Miss Pramal was found. In the canal.”
“All right. Here’s what I think we should do, if I may make a suggestion, Inspector Caldwell? Perhaps Mr. Pramal could remain here for a while, just to give us his viewpoint.” Maisie turned from Caldwell to the Indian gentleman. “Would that be convenient?”
The man bowed his head, then looked at Maisie. “I have all the time needed, for my sister.”
“Good. Inspector, perhaps I could visit you later, at the Yard, and we can discuss the case—I am sure there will be no problem in allowing me to view your investigation records, in the circumstances.”
“In the circumstances—”
“Good,” said Maisie, cutting off any dissent that Caldwell might have expressed. In that case, Inspector, I’ll walk with you down to your motor car?”
As they stood on the downstairs threshold, Maisie folded her arms against a cool breeze that had blown up to chill a fine day in what promised to be one of the warmest Indian summers she could remember.
“What happened? It’s not like you to lose the thread—assuming you found it,” said Maisie.
Caldwell shrugged. “I’ve had a lot on my plate, Miss Dobbs. She was an Indian woman, knew hardly anyone, and she turns up dead. There was no one pressing me for a result, so it went to the bottom of the pile—mind you, we had a go at finding who did it, but it’s not as if there was anyone to answer to, and the press weren’t all over it—no grieving relatives, nothing your Daily Mails and Mirrors could make hay with. Then he comes along—the brother. Of course, it takes, what—six weeks to come over on the boat? There had been a letter saying he was on his way, but I suppose it went into the file and the next thing you know—”
“She wasn’t the right color, so no one bothered.”
“Now, don’t be like that, Miss Dobbs. You know me, straight as a die—I don’t make any distinction whether the deceased is one of us or not.”
Maisie sighed. “You know my usual fee?”
“Only too well. So does the Commissioner, and the bookkeeper.”
“Tell him to keep that checkbook at the ready.”
“Tell her. The bookkeeper who deals with my department is a she.”
“Good. I’ll be paid on time then.” Maisie looked at her wristwatch. “About four?”
Caldwell nodded, turned away from Maisie and raised his hand. A black police motor car moved from the place where it was parked and approached at a snail’s pace.
Maisie half-turned to go back into the mansion where her first-floor office was housed. “Don’t